


I've Carefully Considered It, And I Don't Fancy You At All

by raedbard



Category: Top Gear (UK)
Genre: M/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-01
Updated: 2008-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-06 23:12:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raedbard/pseuds/raedbard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeremy has made a list and would rather not check it twice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Carefully Considered It, And I Don't Fancy You At All

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle VI, to the prompt 'maudlin'.

At the top of the piece of paper he writes:

A List of Things Belonging to James May which Jeremy Clarkson Does Not Covet - not under any circumstances whatever

and in the scrawly handwriting of one happily three parts gone on cheap gin he continues:

~~revolting~~ ~~heinous~~ hoopy jumpers  
tenuous grasp on reality  
assorted motorbike leftovers  
Boxster (nooooooo!)  
prose style (hah!)

At this point he stops and might be seen to ponder, with the pencil held between his teeth. He opens his mouth -- and then closes it again with a shake of his head. He doesn't know why he needs to test how everything he writes sounds out loud except that he does and he always has and was once given a particularly dull detention for it practising the cadences of a rather good and a bit filthy love letter in the middle of Physics.

Ah. Love letter. Hmmm.

Quite possibly a very bad idea to pursue that line of thought. Quick! Insults. More insults for James!

Driving style. (Don't need to say any more about that)  
Wooden, completely unprepossessing and really rather homosexualist presenting style.  
Really quite attractive once you get past the hippyishness hair ...

Oh, _bollocks_.

Not enough gin. Not enough drinking has been accomplished - he still remembers.

James' hair, crinkling inside his fist, pulling James' head back to expose his neck and biting at the underside, the tender spot, and how that makes James whimper in what he would probably call a 'very undignified and unmanly way' ... if he'd been sober enough to actually be able to hold on to the memory, which Jeremy is pretty sure he wasn't.

Which is a good thing. Obviously. Because it would be the most embarrassing thing in the entire cosmos if they both remembered shagging each other limp over the summer. Obviously. Of course.

But remembering how James laughed, that little burst of fantastic good humour - James letting go, his face flushed, with his eyes crinkled up, knowing and dazzling blue and _happy_ ... and gorgeous.

He takes another swig of gin. A big one. It doesn't help.

Tweaking his nipples because he knows James doesn't like that, even though it made his cock even harder; deliberately ripping open his shirt and laughing when he hears the _pyong!_ of small, white buttons hitting the window and James calling him an insufferable pornographic oaf because that shirt was one of his favourites, even though Jeremy has told him on a number of occasions that it looks utterly hideous under the studio lights; kissing him, for a long _long_ time and listening to the little moans he makes involuntarily and revelling in the knowledge that it will mortify him to remember that tomorrow.

If he remembered at all.

Well, Jeremy will just have to remember for him. Being a much more adult and responsible person. Who wouldn't dream of misusing this knowledge. Mostly because it would mean the end of his own career as well. Impulse control breaks down again and he throws the gin glass at the wall and swears, loudly and - if he does say so himself - quite creatively for a man with his cheek cut open, when the glass fragments hit his face.

_Bloody_ May. That _bastard_. Inconsiderate and ridiculously irritating anally-retentive old hippy.

Oh for fuck's _sake_!

James had kissed him, so really it's all his fault. They could have stopped, even though they'd taken all their clothes off by that point and ... oh never mind.

He remembers, fuzzily, rubbing his cock against May's belly - desperate by that point - getting close and then looking up at James: covered in blush as far down as his chest, eyes shut, his fist closed tightly around his own cock, and wanting to stop .. wanting this to be more than a stupid, drunken holiday shag. Kissing him; surprising him with a generous kiss, seeing the question in his eyes, shaking his head - _not today, James_. Wincing a bit when he starts sucking James' cock, but doing it nevertheless and almost enjoying it, but definitely enjoying the sounds James is making. Rubbing himself against James as he comes, hard and helpless, collapsing, happy, laughing, careless ...

He sighs. Rips the paper into sixteen small pieces. Sets fire to them. And pours himself another gin.


End file.
